


I won't count cents like my ma and pa

by Maura_Moo



Category: (if thats the one with Jeremy jordan), Bonnie and Clyde (TV 2013), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater, if not than the one with Jeremy jordan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I still am, Please read, To Read, aged down charactes (moritz), bonnie and clyde - Freeform, cross over fic, daughter of bonnie and clyde, i dont condone what melchior did, i worked hard on this, it takes place in bonnie and clyde time lin, kid moritz steifel, melchi and wendla makes me mad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 06:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30051150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maura_Moo/pseuds/Maura_Moo
Summary: Stars blink down at her. Twinkling like hidden parazii cameras. Cameras that her mother used to dream of staring at. It's quiet outside, darkness has stolen the life from the busy Dallas streets. If Cora lets her eyes drift away, she can catch glimpses of ghosts still haunting the streets, the last lingering eyes. Most of her life has been painted and hidden under stars, winking and shimmering as if trying to coax her into joining them, bright against the pitch black sky. Nobody stares when you drive through the streets late at night the spirits of the street gaze in silent curiosity. To the stragglers, Cora is just another pale face rich enough to afford a ford.
Relationships: Clyde Barrow/Bonnie Parker, David Jacobs/Original Female Character(s), Wendla Bergmann/Melchior Gabor
Kudos: 1





	I won't count cents like my ma and pa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My duckling](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+duckling).



  
Stars blink down at her. Twinkling like hidden paparazzi  
cameras. Cameras that her mother used to dream of staring at. It's quiet outside, darkness has stolen the life from the busy Dallas streets. If Cora lets her eyes drift away, she can catch glimpses of ghosts still haunting the streets, the last lingering eyes. Most of her life has been painted and hidden under stars, winking and shimmering as if trying to coax her into joining them, bright against the pitch black sky. Nobody stares when you drive through the streets late at night the spirits of the street gaze in silent curiosity. To the stragglers, Cora is just another pale face rich enough to afford a ford. 

As she drives she tries not to think of the body in the passenger seat. Warm and breathing, heavy with sleep while wrapped in her shawl. Moritz’s small hands twitch and Cora wonders what he’s dreaming of, wide ballrooms with couples dancing and swaying or high trees, blue butterflies flying high on cool summer wind or his father. Somewhere in some building, David sits, scanning through casefiles blissfully unaware of the day trip and nighttime jaunt his girlfriend and son have wandered through. Unaware of the shed tears evaporated by the Texas sun and the unanswered questions. 

If she lingers too much on the family she has, the one that she’s kept the cork gun, ways heavier than heart. She turns the corner and the almost supernatural coldness that wraps around her feels like coming home. 

Tall gates stare down at her, an old chain and padlock block her from entering. The lock is simple and the chain snakes down the shadowed metal railings. Tired, rusted hinges creak as she wrestles with them. Stone angels watch as the black ford rolls slowly into the cemetery. Gravestones jutt out at the ground like crooked teeth, cracked and faded. _In death we are all reclaimed_ she thinks, bundling her son into her arms. _As we live, we ruin the world. In death, the world ruins us._

Clyde’s grave is easy to find. It's bent slight, leaning to the right, and covered with flowers. The grass is trimmed and pink pansies sprout like rose tinted blood splatter around the hem. If people stare at it for too long, they can spot dents in the mud and stray nail marks in the upturned soil. She kneels at his feet, Moritz enclosed, blinking half-awake, in her arms.

“Hey papa.” She whispers, reaching out to fluff a leaf. “I'm sorry I ain't been round much to visit but y’know- fugitive ain’t really able to visit.” She chuckles dryly, if her father was here, she knew he would have laughed at that. He would have kissed her on the head, hands cupping the curve of her chin. “I brought someone I want ya to meet. If mama ain't already told ya.”

They have visited her mothers grave earlier. It was tidier than her fathers, with soft small crimped hedges and “Bonnie Parker. October 1st 1910 - May 23rd 1934” carved into the grey stone. She had knelt leaning against the gravestone as if kneeling at her mothers feet. Telling stories under the setting sun. Mortiz had stared, asking questions about her mother. Questions that floated away as the heat evaporated out of the air. Cora had read him Bonnie’s poems, tracing the words on the gravestone with her fingers as if the touch of the living would bring her mother back into her arms. Cora had fiddled with the chain around her neck and with a final kiss returned her mothers stole wedding ring. Rays of sun glinted off the metal and tearfully she had smiled whispering “You need it more than I mama.” The ring seemed to sparkle in thanks and the dainty golden chain sways, waving goodbye as the first few stars hid the horizon.

In the car, she had remembered this day twenty-four years ago. The feeling of bullets slicing the windows, shattering it. Remembering how she hid, covered in her parents blood, between the two of them. Begging, praying for them to move.

“Ma?” Mortiz pokes her in the stomach, drawing her mind back to where they are. She blinks, screwing her eyes shut before turning her attention back to her father.

“This is Moritz papa, I adopted him. He’s your grandson.” She unwraps her arms slowly, fingers mapping the outline of Moritz’s bottom ribs with her fingers. “I’m sorry you never got to meet him.”

He blinks at the grave frowning before turning her attention to his mother again. “Why did your parents die mother?”

Cora sighs, resting her chin against his hair. “I don't know kiddo. People saw them as bad people.” The cork gun feels like concrete tied to her hips, dragging her slowly down to some inevitable place where she couldn't fight back. She pulls it out slowly and lays it in her numb hands.

“I know you and mama are together now papa, regardless of where ya two are buried. I need you to look after this.” The gun is damaged and worn with age. The red handle is chipped and splotched with different colours of paint and the trigger is worn to her thumb print. “Keep it safe for me papa. Until I can come back. It won't be long, I promise. Good things are comin’ our way. I’ll be able to see you soon.”

Cora sighs, resting her chin against his hair. “I don't know kiddo. People saw them as bad people.” The cork gun feels like concrete tied to her hips, dragging her slowly down to some inevitable place where she couldn't fight back. She pulls it out slowly and lays it in her numb hands. 

“I know you and mama are together now papa, regardless of where ya two are buried. I need you to look after this.” The gun is damaged and worn with age. The red handle is chipped and splotched with different colours of paint and the trigger is worn to her thumb print. “Keep it safe for me papa. Until I can come back. It won't be long, I promise. Good things are comin’ our way. I’ll be able to see you soon.”

Her knees crack when she stands and grass stains the cuffs of her paint. Mud has started to soak into her son's shoes. “One day you will see the sunrise again pa.” She whispers, scooping Mortiz back into her arms.

The drive back to the motel is silent apart from Cora’s wet sniffling. She hated her parents being so far from her, from each other. Tears had forced their ways onto her cheeks and as they pulled into a gas station, Moritz reached, using his palm to wipe tears off her face.

“Thank you my heart. Stay here while mama fills up the tanker. The car goes through gas like a preacher through whiskey.” Moritz giggles and flops back into his seat.

Her eyes once again drift out to the open road in front of them, empty and waiting. “Moritz honey. Wanna see how fast we get to the hotel?” Childish joy floats somewhere in the back of her mind, its red-stained, coated in almost black tar and bullet holes.

“Yes!” He waves his arms against the window, gaps and wobbly teeth exposed to the man in the moon. If Cora didn’t adore her son, she would be jealous by his merciful laughter, she has tried to give him the life he deserved, the life every child has. One with untrapped joy and parents that love them. Parents that stay. Parents that when he grows up, he will remember their faces without having to rely on a faded picture in a stolen locket.

The gas task pops and she jumps, hand instantly flying to the gun holstered on her hip. Wide eyes are quick to scan the area, taking note of the dead devils back porch. The wind creaks through bushes and trees, stolen of their summer blossom by the overbearing summer sun. Noticing that they’re safe, she returns to the car.

The ford speeds like a black ghost down the highway. A black phantom staining the air with unchained laughter. The tires scream as she pulls behind the hotel. It's small, the neon sign flickering. They’re still chuckling when she wanders into the hotel.

“Hiya darlin’” The lady on the desk crows, her old bones creaking as she stands. “And whose this lil fella.” She reaches over the counter to rub at Moritz’s cheek.

“My son.” There’s a hint of stubborn coldness in Cora’s voice as she shifts a tired Moritz on to her hip. “I’d like a room please.”

“And I suppose a crib for this little dreamboat.” There's the rustling of papers and then “we have that’s gonna be available in ‘bout an hour. Can ya wait?” Cora stares the receptionist in the eye for a few seconds, there's some untraceable spark of an unnamed emotion in the wrinkled features. “Don't I know ya from somewhere?”

“Nope.”

The receptionist stares at her as if studying her. It goes on long enough that it makes her feel uncomfortable, shifting her feet towards the door and hand towards her right hip. “You were Bonnie Parker's daughter” 

“Who?” Cora feels herself wince internally, her mother would be rolling in her grave right now if she heard Cora denouncing her- Bonnie already had that once. Not again. Never again. 

“Bonnie Parker. Bonnie and Clyde. Yeah I knew ya ma.” 

“I don't think you did ma’am.” Moritz is asleep on her shoulder, drool dribbling down his chin. _Not like I did._

Footsteps break the tension in the air. A family wanders out. Cora watches the father toss his daughter onto his shoulders. Something hits her in her shoulder. 

Cora turns, arms wrapped around Moritz so he doesnt fall out of her arms. She cannot lose him too. “The hell?” 

“I am so sorry ma’am! My son likes to think of himself as a real Clyde Barrow. Always shootin’ his cork gun. I hope he didn't hurt you or ya kid.” 

“Oh.”Cora blinks, almost surprised. She smiles at the mother, taking note of her red locks contained in a white ribbon, her eyes so brown that she could see the river carving its banks. “No. no were fine.” Cora is handed a key and ducking her head, scampers away into the safety of the room. 

She stays awake later than what she would admit, peaking out windows from behind curtains or double-checking the locks on the doors. Mortiz lays asleep, his tiny hands gripping the dirty sheets, he whines when the bedsprings groan under Cora’s weight. In the darkness she watches the ceiling, counting the halls and cracks. It started to rain outside and the water lashed at the window. 

It's sunrise when she turns to face her son, watching how the rising sun paints his childish frame. Cora can count every freckle and twist every curl slowly around her fingers when he’s asleep. His six year old energy seems to ball itself away with the sunset slowly relieving itself as the Dallas boils under sweltering sunshine. 

“Cmon my heart, let’s go.” She gathers their belongings, smiling warmly when he squirms and blinks alive in her arms. “Good morning baby mine.” 

“Good morning mama.” He buries his face into her neck. “When can we see daddy again? When are we goin’ home?” 

Home. Did they really have a home? Sure they had an apartment and Moritz went to school. But the walls were a pale blue and the people inside it were bluer. “Soon baby. Soon.” Is the only answer that comes to mind. Cora never had a home as a kid, they’d fly from place to place so much that she gave up learning a way to school. Her parents are stuck in the forefront of her mind as she wanders down the stairs and into the lobby. “We’ve got one more stop before we go home. Daddy will be home soon. He’s working.” 

Her hair bristles on her arm. The lobby is dangerously quiet. The receptionist lays asleep on the desk, the phone tucked between her arms. The dial tone sings like nightingales. Floorboards creak under her feet as she creeps slowly towards her, stealing the receiver. 

“Thank you for the tip off ma’am officers are on their way.” 

Fear paints a second skin over her, blood pounds in her ears. She slams the receiver down, allowing her body to fall to the floor. Moritz copies, grinning. “I like this game mama” He whispers when she gets close enough. 

Cora glances between the window and her son's smiling face. He looks so happy. “Yes baby. Yes it's a game.” Hidden by tables, Cora takes her son in her arms for the last time, burying her face into his hair. 

She can't run anymore. She can't do this to him. To David. 

“Moritz. I need you to keep playing this game okay. Mama is gonna go outside, you need to stay here until I get to those bushes okay? Wait until you hear the car horn and then run. Can you do that?” 

“Yes.” 

She pulls his head under her chin and presses kisses against his hair. “I love you baby okay? Remember that. Even if I'm not here okay?” Moritz nods. 

“Love you too mama.” 

With a final kiss to his forehead, Cora lets go of her son, leaving her gun on the table above him. She can’t shoot her way out of this one. She can’t follow her fathers footsteps, she can't die a young woman in the arms of an old man. 

The sun has already warmed the tarmac as she wanders into the parking lot. Her hands held up. Every footstep away from Moritz feels like she’s being force fed hellfire. 

The police, hidden in the thick bushes, aren’t sure who fired the first shot after the command of ‘fire’ was given. They empty their rounds, watching as the body tumbles a mess of bullet holes and blood. Their fingers twitch- the last final, painful moments of a failed life. It's only when they still and blood soaks, boiled on the tarmac do they shift from their hiding places. 

The motel door creaks open, the broken glass hanging and dancing in the wind. 

“Hold ya fire! Hold ya fire!” The voice is strangely familiar to her ringing ears as she watches the blurry figure rush forward. Gathering moritz into their arms. They talk soundlessly and it's only when the child points does she shift her eyes dowards. Her body lays, decorated with holes and blood, brown eyes are startled open and blood fizzles from her mouth. She laughs, bitter and sarcastic. 

She lived fast and died young. Killed by the hands a crooked cop that stole her heart. 

Cora watches her life play out like a movie. Bonnie always wanted her to be a movie star. Now she is, she’s watching her own life play out in painful slow movements. She’s stuck watching on the TV of life and she can’t pause it, no matter how hard she yells or how many tears fill her eyes. 

Something hits her in the back of the head. Heavy and hard. “Hey! Why dont ya fuckin watch what ya doin’ ya fuckin-” 

A cork sits at her feet. Rocking like a cradle. She’s quick to bend down and scoop it into her palm. The markings are familiar, smooth dents in the material as if fired from a broken gun. “What the fuck?!” she snaps, voice wavering. 

“Always have your mothers temper.” 

“Papa?” 

Clyde stands, grinning as he waves her toy gun at her. “I got ya gift.” He chuckles, tucking it into the waistband of his pants. “I missed ya sugar cube.” 

Cora feels the world slipping from under her feet. He’s….. Her father is dead and has been since she was six. She saw his grave last night. 

Was she? 

Is he-? 

Is he real? 

Clyde steps closer, waving his hand in front of her face. “You’re okay sugar cube” 

“I was just like you papa-!” She feels her voice crack. Legs trembling as she collapses forwards. Falling a childish pile of tears and love in his arms. 

“Shhh. shhh I know baby. I know.” Her father whispers into her hair. “Ya okay sugarcube. Papa’s gotcha.” 

Cora stays in her fathers arms for what feels like an eternity before there's footsteps behind them. A band of gold glints in the rising sun. red-tipped fingers collect her face. 

For the first time in twelve years, Cora can see her mothers face in perfect detail, down to every crease and scar. She can smell the gunpowder bubbling out of her fathers clothes. 

For the first time in twelve years; Cora feels like she knows her family. 

“Hey mama.” 

Bonnie holds her face for a few seconds longer, blue eyes frantically scanning the scars on her chin, across her nose. Her hands are warm against cora’s cheeks. Chuckling tearfully, Bonnie takes Cora into her arms, tucking her head into the curve of her shoulder. 

“My heart. You’re finally home.” 

Her parents hold her just like they used to do. “You’ve changed so much my heart.” 

“Were ya prouda me?” Cora whispers. 

“Always.” 

Clyde brushes his face against the fuzzing strands of red hair. “C’mon baby. I got someone I want ya to meet.” Her parents stand, hand-in-hand 

She goes to follow, knowing that dying isn’t as bad now. With a final glance down at her dead body, she sighs, shoulder sagging. “There's just one thing I have to do.” 

“We won't leave ya sugar cube.” 

She takes Davey’s wet face in hers, she follows the tears down his cheeks and carefully her thumb brushes them away. 

“I know ya can't hear me David. I love you. So much. ‘M sorry we don't get to go together. I'm always gonna be there with you. A love like ours, it aint gonna happen twice. Remember the laughter we had. A-and our love. I'm sorry I'm leaving. I have to go.” Tears clog her throat. “Thank you for letting me love someone as great as you. ” She lays her hand on Moritz’s head. “Take care of my heart for me.” 

Under the rising Dallas sun, Cora no longer has to hide. She no longer has to wait for the stars to bring her out of hiding. There’s no more hiding. No more fake names. 

Under the rising Dallas sun, she runs to her parents, shedding the second second she’s kept since the age of six. 

Under the rising Dallas sun, Cora reclaims her last name. 

She reclaims normality. 

In the end, she was just like her parents. Gunned down, a young women a circumstance of situation. She takes her fathers hand, letting him lead her back into her mothers arms. 

_Dying isn’t so bad when you have someone waiting on the other side._


End file.
